“Are you eating healthily, Adrian?” called his grandmother up the narrow stairs of the terraced Burnley house.
“Yes Nanna,” replied Adrian from behind his closed bedroom door, shovelling cold baked beans from a tin into his mouth using a dirty fork.
Outside the rain continued to sleet down from a leaden sky. If there was someone to be angry at for this hell-hole, the weather, life, everything, Adrian wanted to know.
“Called yourself an ‘innovator’ did you? You nasty piece of work, how dare you disgrace the aisles of Sainsbury’s with your failed engineering business!”
And with that, Amos began hurling tins of baked beans at the retired director of the failed engineering works.
It had been 14 years, but people around here had long memories. Sydney really just wanted to buy something for tea and walk quietly home from the supermarket with his dog, Squibbs. Instead he had to nurse a bruised lump on his forehead, as he carried his shopping bag containing breaded fish in a box through the rain-swept streets of Tooting.
Those baked beans really hurt.
